He carries his ideas in books bound in leather
and a change of clothing, and a picture of anna when she was younger,
least he forget her.
and in among his papers is a list of all the people that he knew.
and stacks of unsent letters telling someone that he'd be there sometime soon,
hey stranger! are you the tiredness that remains when you see freedom can't be measured by the scuffles on your boots?
hey hey hey...
Now he dreams at night of anna and the time they were together,
he was hard and she was subtle, when they lived out in the country he thought gentle--
like his hands upon her body...
how when anna felt the cooling winds
david thought that he would be blown down...
and when anna felt the cleansing rain
david fought the fear that he would drown---
hey stranger! as you wonder through the country
that you hope is much less frightening
when it's quicker passing through--
hey hey hey...
Now in southern arizona at an all night diner counter
being questioned by the waitress, he prepares for the desert with his freedom,
and a canteen of water...